


In Which Thor is Nearly Bagged By A Troll

by Dark_Ella



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, It's just a concussion stop being a baby, Now Sif is the trickster, Trolls are disgusting honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 12:41:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14112579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Ella/pseuds/Dark_Ella
Summary: During battle, Thor Odinson has been concussed badly. While waiting at his side for help from the Lady Eir afterward, Sif entertains Thor by reminding him of great battles. She slips in a story that actually happened to her... But it’s so much more entertaining to switch the God of Thunder into the lead role.





	In Which Thor is Nearly Bagged By A Troll

"Stop doing that, Thor, you're bleeding on me. All right, you've likely forgotten this tale, but I never will." With a deep breath, Sif commenced.

"Once while the mighty Thor lingered in his bath, word came that the Lady Sif was not to be found, that a maid in Svartalfheim was being menaced by a dragon, and was asking Sif's assistance. The ever-roaming Sif was away with the Warriors Three, however, trying to win a Golden Gauntlet at a tourney. 

So Thor, noble and chivalrous, decided that a dragon was a very fine and rare beast to fight. It is said that a dragon's scale can heal any wound, and a drop of it's blood send any warrior into a berserker rage which renders them unconquerable in war. How could he refuse such a quest on her behalf? Of course the maid should be assisted. 

So he splashed out of his bath, and in truth, left so quickly he was still dripping as his horse galloped down the byways towards Svartalfheim. The sun and air dried him quickly though, and it was not long before he was singing lustily with joy as the road wound ahead of him. Soon enough, the sun set and it was time to set up camp. The gloaming was beautiful, as enchanting an evening as was ever seen, and the impetuous Thor decided to ride through the night. Now this was foolish. As everyone knows, outside the boundary-markers of Asgard, every evil can be found lurking for the unwary. But...well, he thought only of dragon hoards and endangered ladies and whistled as he urged the tired horse forward into the dark. 

And it happened that a mountain troll stepped into his path, many times larger than his horse. The monster lifted a club high overhead and brought it down, BAM! onto the thick skull of the brave prince. It should be sadly told here that his poor horse...the lovely companion and friendly-spirited solace of many quests... came to a terrible end, for there is nothing a mountain troll loves more than roasted horse. 

Thor awoke with a throbbing migraine in a large, awkwardly-wrought sort of birdcage. It swung many meters from off the ground, suspended from a stand with a curved, ornate hook which nearly touched the rocky ceiling of the cave where it resided. Thor found he had enough room to stand, stooping, but little more. 

The troll came in, took one look at the ravishing young lord of Asgard, and immediately a stream of drool gushed from it's slack lips and poured to the ground, forming a brook of saliva that streamed away. For Thor was handsome indeed, all straining pecs and powerful rippling arms and /such/ a narrow waist, hair like the first shock of sun in the morning, and eyes a bluebell might envy. And that's not even to mention the promise of more hidden delights of....where was I. Oh yes. 

"I have long been wanting to wed, and here is my mate! Hanging in my cage like a sweet little bird. Oh ho, I ate your horse this morning, and I think I shall eat you for dinner," leered the troll suggestively, and it must be admitted that Thor nearly horked. For the troll was the opposite of comely; tufts of hair grew from the basin of it's ears like shafts of unlovely wheat. The bulbous nose was covered in warts, and from beneath the deeply overhanging bare belly came the smell of rotted yeast. Thor did not want to join in the delicacies of a wedding feast with such a being. Even one used to the unwashed masses and wounds of the battlefield would have found the ulcerated pus-pockets of the chronically infected troll-folk to be gruesome. And so he declined, with all the wiles he could muster, in spite of his poor headache. 

"Fairest of all..er, mountain inhabitants, I also long to be wed. However, I have no wedding ring or token of my devotion. Let me go, so that I may seek a treasure worthy of you. For I am on my way to defeat a great dragon, and I will return with something precious and worthy." 

Not for nothing was Thor the brother of Loki Liesmith. But the troll was not to be bought off with greed, nor sweetened up with deceptively smooth words. "The gold of your hair will be my dowry, and there will be /rivers/ of pearls to swim in tonight." The troll sniggered and made some obscene gestures, the wretched thing. Of course, a filthy mind in a desirable bedmate is a gift beyond sapphires, but really in this case it was off-putting. 

The troll left to collect it's friends for the marriage ceremony, of which the rituals are unknown but probably better left unimagined. Thor, by dint of swinging his hips and feet together in time, was able to swing the cage off the curved hook. It crashed to the ground, further jarring the thunderer's head in a most abominable way. But the poorly crafted cage was bent enough to slip through, and slip he did. He slipped all the way to Svartalfheim, where he met the maid (a lovely but appallingly helpless woman), defeated the dragon (who ended up being nothing more than a smitten, persistent suitor with dreams of fearsome dragonish qualities and a self-given nickname) and claimed his reward (a really good elvish dinner, which, let's face it, is never a good dripping steak). 

On his return many weeks later, Thor was healed and heartened enough to make a return trip back through the troll-infested craggy wasteland. During daytime, of course, as he had learned some sense. There he found the cave, found the cage, found the troll sleeping in it's daylight rock-form, and decapitated it with good will. 

Where was Thor's ever-present weapon Mjolnir, and why was it's ringing song of death not heard in this tale? Hm. Well, he had left it by the bath, of course. Now the healer is ready to see you, Thor, so hurry, go." 

And in the end, this version of the story is so real to both of them that they will spend a night every hundred years or so drinking and arguing about whether it happened to him, to her, or to possibly both, for both remember it perfectly. At any rate, the time went quickly and Sif so rarely fudges with the truth that it was pretty good fun.

The End 

Of the Troll.


End file.
